Never Will
by The Mudblooded Slytherin
Summary: Harry has graduated Hogwarts, but the War still rages on. Dumbledore embarked on the quest to destroy horcruxs on his own, preferring to keep Harry safely contained in 12 Grimmauld Place. With danger and death surrounding them all, strange behavior and even stranger relationships emerge from the chaos. But will they last? HP/SS. HBP spoilers, but not compliant.
1. Chapter 1

_Severus couldn't understand how this was happening. Even while it was happening, he couldn't understand how it was happening. True, he didn't hate the boy, hadn't hated him since probably his six or seventh year at Hogwarts. It had simply become too much effort. He wasn't enough like James to keep it up. But four years of simply not hating someone anymore didn't lay the foundation for the kind of behavior they were now engaging in. And it was true that during wars people always seemed to find the strangest bedfellows. He had never been involved in it, but he had watched it happen over and over again. In the Death Eater ranks during the first war and in the Order now. Regulus and Bellatrix? Remus and Tonks? Surely, from an outside perspective, they were almost as strange a coupling as what was happening now._

_And as he reached that line of thought what was happening seemed to crash in on him all at once with as much force as when it had first began. Yes, Harry Potter was still kissing him. He had his right hand caught up in his hair, gripping it rather hard, and his left hand was on his hip pulling it forward in an almost avaricious way, grinding Snape's growing erection into Harry's. Severus' hands had snuck their way around while he was distracted; one was on the back of Potter's neck, making sure he didn't pull away, and the other was on working it's way down Potter's spine, trailing slowly until it reached the curve of Potter's arse and then gripped it firmly. Potter moaned wretchedly into his mouth, his fingers coming quickly to the buttons on Snape's shirt and making quick, if a bit clumsy, work of them. A shove towards his shoulders and Snape let the garment fall away. Potter gasped softly. There was a moment then, where he could have turned away. He could have run, and the mutual embarrassment would have kept Potter from ever mentioning this again, he was sure. But then Potter brought his fingers up and ran them down the length of the scar on his chest. He looked back up into his eyes, pity written on his face. Snape growled. That was the last thing he needed right now. He grabbed Potter's face with both his hands and pulled him into a kiss so hard it was painful, but Potter kissed him back just as savagely. Snape grabbed Potter's thin t-shirt and yanked it over his head. He took a moment to appreciate the pale, lithe, unblemished skin while he kicked off his shoes. He lowered his trousers while Harry kissed his neck and suddenly, off-balance, they fell to the floor. Snape didn't care. He reached down blindly for the button on Harry's jeans, but Harry was drawing back. Snape was momentarily alarmed. Then he felt hot breath through the thin silk of his pants and the warm pressure of a hand slowly massaging his cock through the fabric._

_Snape looked down and saw that Harry was staring up at him with an almost curious expression. He had knelt between Snape's legs and all his earlier urgency seemed to have left him as he slowly stroked his member. Snape nearly shouted at him in frustration but he managed a slightly strangled, "Get on with it, then, Potter," and Harry laughed softly._

_"Yes, Professor," he replied insolently and Snape rolled his eyes, but when Potter pulled down his pants and took his cock in his warm, wet, soft, pink, oh, Merlin, heavenly mouth, he forgot his retort, he forgot how strange and wrong and inexplicable this was, he might have forgotten his own name. All he could say, over and over in quiet whispers, was, _"Harry..." 

Harry hadn't left 12, Grimmauld Place in slightly over two years. No opportunity to lounge, though; he had dueling practice in the basement every day with a different Order member. Tonks was always fun, but too clumsy to be much of a challenge. Remus didn't seem to try too hard to hit Harry with anything, and Harry liked Remus too much to try very hard, either. Shacklebolt was alright, but he would stop the training every few minutes to talk about curse theory, about why Harry might want to choose different spells or how he had left his right side open and he really shouldn't do that. Hermione and the Weasleys weren't allowed to practice with him anymore as all they ever ended up doing was talking and catching up; he so rarely got to see his friends. Snape never spoke, just fired curse after curse at him until he was exhausted. After these brutal sessions Harry rather thought he might be ready for Voldemort after all.

The house had been taken off of the Floo network. Owls were restricted to emergencies only and all other correspondence had to be sent to Hogwarts, Care Of. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been communicating through Dumbledore, but as he came so rarely in the last year their letters had slowed to a crawl. He usually only had contact with them when they could come to the house, but their positions in the Ministry made it hard for them to slip away unnoticed. Harry missed hearing from them.

That night, Snape handed him a bundle with a few letters in it and it was the first time Harry thought that the Potions Master might not hate him anymore.

"I brought you your letters. You may read them now if you like," he said, setting the letters on the table and walking down the stairs to the basement to begin their lesson. Harry marveled at the letters for a few moments. He left them sit before following Snape down to the basement, preferring to save them for later. Had Snape brought the letters himself? Or had Dumbledore told him to? It certainly sounded as though Snape had thought to bring them on his own. And he couldn't think why Snape would try to take credit for them if Dumbledore really had simply asked him to drop them off. It's not as though Snape was the kind of person to lie about something as menial as that.

For some reason Harry couldn't get his mind off the letters as Snape fired curse after curse at him. It made him a bit slow, something that was noticed and immediately punished by faster, stronger spellwork. Perhaps Snape did still hate him...

They finished two hours later, Snape pushing him harder than he could ever remember. The man had even removed his outer robes and long-sleeve shirt, so they were both in sweat-drenched trousers and undershirts as they cleaned up the basement. It was the first time Harry had seen Snape without sleeves. The Dark Mark was still black against his skin. His arms and shoulders were rather stockier than Harry would have thought. The man was actually built pretty well.

"You were distracted today," Snape said. It was the first time he had spoken to Harry during a lesson.

"Er, what? Was I, Professor?"

"It was obvious. Every time we have dueled you grow quicker and sharper. You are getting a sense of timing and can anticipate most of my spells rather well. Today you nearly let three curses hit you. Something aside from your health and well-being was taking up space in that head of yours." Snape shrugged his shirt back on and started doing up the buttons. Harry stared at him. He noticed, and looked uncomfortable. "What, Potter?"

"Did you just compliment me, sir?"

Snape fixed him with a stern look. "I asked you what is so much more important than your ability to not get yourself killed by the Dark Lord when he decides to come for you."

It was Harry's turn to be uncomfortable. "Oh, er, well. Just, nothing." It seemed Snape wasn't prepared to accept that answer. "I just - thanks," he said lamely.

"What exactly are you thanking me for, Potter?"

"For the letters, sir. From my friends. Thank you for bringing them. You know. Even if Dumbledore told you to. I still appreciate it." Harry turned quickly to collect his own robes from the ground.

Snape was silent for a moment. "If the mystery of what those letters say is so distracting, Potter, you could have taken a moment to read them before you came down. It's no use practicing if you're going to be useless," he said scathingly.

Harry stood and turned back to the older man. "No, that's not what I - I'm not thinking about what the letters say. I'm sure they say the same things they do every time."

"Then what was so distracting?"

"I don't, I... I'm just. Glad you brought them is all." Harry scowled and started up the stairs. "Can't you just say 'you're welcome' like a normal person?" he added under his breath.

"Dumbledore didn't tell me to bring them," Snape said quietly. Harry paused, but he really couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he kept up the stairs to the kitchen.

Harry had been planning on going straight to the shower, but everyone was in the kitchen. It was so crowded there was barely enough room for himself and Snape, crowded at the door to the basement. Everyone was talking over each other. Harry could feel Snape tensing behind him. He wondered what was going on. At that moment Dumbledore came in through the other doorway. A hush quickly fell.

"The time is almost upon us," he said quietly. "I have finished my mission that I started what feels like a lifetime ago. And now that it's finished I may tell you all what it is I have been doing." His eyes scanned the room before he spoke, meeting with Snape's for a fraction of a second. "Severus," he said softly, then turned back to the rest of the Order.

"Come, Potter," Snape said quietly.

Harry twisted around to look incredulously at Snape. He was gesturing at the door to the basement. "Leave? What? Are you mad? This is important, this is-"

"Less important than what I am about to tell you. Come. I will disclose to you Dumbledore's announcement, but we must take care of something else first."

With a sense of deprival and a great amount of confusion Harry allowed Snape to pull him back down to the basement.

"What's going on?" He demanded immediately. "What's Dumbledore saying? Why can't I listen with everyone else?"

Snape took his time removing his wand from his robes and _fiddling_ with it. Clearly Snape was uneasy or agitated, enough that he was showing signs of it. This could not be good news.

"I will tell you what Dumbledore is saying. But first I have to perform a spell." Snape paused. He did not look at Harry. "On you."

Harry stared at him. "What is this all about, Snape? You have to put a spell on me? You better tell me exactly what's going on."

At that, Snape looked up with a hint of a smirk on his face. "Oh, but I can't."

"You said you would tell me!"

He raised an eyebrow. "I can tell you. After I perform the spell."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Well, what kind of spell is it, then."

"I can't tell you. Until after it's been cast."

Harry shook his head. "This is mad. You can't just cast spells on me with out telling me what they are."

"Sit down, Potter."

Harry looked around. As he already knew, there was no where to sit. When he looked back, Snape was settling himself cross-legged on the floor. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"Look, can I talk to Dumbledore?"

"No. Sit."

"I don't want to do this, Snape. No offence, but this is really weird, and I don't think-"

"_Sit_, Potter."

Harry sat.

Snape leveled a look at Harry. "You saw very clearly that Dumbledore meant for me to take you away from that meeting, do you disagree? What was that?"

"I said no, sir," he repeated sullenly.

"He knows exactly what I am doing. He is the one that realized it needed doing in the first place. I don't suppose you will believe this, but regardless. I can... sympathize with your position."

"My what?"

"Merlin, save me," Snape muttered. "I know it is difficult to accept that this spell must be cast on you without answers regarding why or what it will do. Especially since it will be almost certainly intolerably painful. But you will be furnished with all the information you desire once the spell is complete."

"I still don't think -"

"It hardly matters what you think at this point, boy," Snape snapped. Harry drew back. "It is what must happen. I assure you that once it is complete, not only will you be one very large step closer to your goal but you will wish it could have been done years ago." He sighed. "No more talking. None, you understand?"

Harry opened his mouth but was silenced by a gesture from Snape. The man was digging in an inside pocket. He drew out a small jewelry box and a piece of chalk. He placed the box open on the floor between them and drew a circle around it. He leaned over and used his thumb to smudge the circle and make an opening at the point closest to Harry. He watched all this with confusion. Snape had said it would hurt. Harry didn't understand. Was this some kind of pentacle? Was this Dark Magic? What was the box for? With no reassurance from Dumbledore Harry had half a mind to get up and run from the basement.

Snape took out his wand. He pointed it directly at Harry's scar and started muttering quiet Latin phrases, _aenean at aliena tibi vasa ex aere et aethere, domi, non potest non esse, quia hoc uas..._ Harry's anticipation and a strange tingling sensation behind his scar grew with every syllable. He was immobile, he couldn't run now if he wanted to. The tingling grew into pain, hotter and hotter, as though something was burning his skull from the inside out. Something was pushing, pulling, piercing, expanding, forcing, something, _something_ terrible was happening in his mind, like a fiery tumor was being excised with no anesthesia. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't hear Snape's spellwork or see the dusty basement or feel his heart beating anymore all that existed was pain. So much that the pain became Harry's entire world. There was no memory of past, no hope for future. For a moment, for an eternity, he was suspended in writhing agony.

Suddenly the pain dropped off. His head still hurt an incredible amount, but for now it was less than it used to be and he shoved the thoughts aside. He tried to catch his bearings. He could hear voices talking quietly, but he couldn't understand them. He tried to open his eyes but it felt like they were stuck. He tried to wiggle his fingers; he could, but the effort required was too much to make the exercise worthwhile. He tried concentrating on the voices.

"But you saw it go to the box, you physically saw it?"

"Yes, I saw it physically rip out of the boy's skull and then make it's way to the box. Yes, it's in the box. It's safe in the damn box, Dumbledore. But who knows if Potter will ever move again? I repaired the bone and skin with my wand and applied a numbing agent to his entire face but that will do little to help if it ripped parts of his brain! There is no magic that can fix brain damage."

"Did you see rips in his brain?"

"No, but he was covered in blood I could barely see a thing."

"Nothing we can do now but put him to bed until he recovers. Wait and hope."

"_If_ he recovers."

"That's hardly helpful, Severus. It had to be done. We knew there were risks. We weren't completely sure it would even work. But this was the best way to weaken Voldemort. And it is the only way that Harry has a chance of living beyond the war."

Harry felt hands, arms, lifting him. His head fell back without the strength to keep it steady. Someone lifted his head so it rested in the crook of a shoulder and he lost consciousness as he was carried up the stairs.

a/n: If someone wants to have a go at writing a better/longer/more detailed opening scene that'd be lovely, just drop me a PM. I've never really written smut before, but I think Harry/Snape pieces are better for having it. I think seeing their intimacy is big part of being able to have a believable transition from canon! Harry and Snape to the Harry and Snape that you want to see. I'm trying to work on overcoming my inability to write smut but I thought I'd throw it out there. And if anyone would like to perhaps consider being my... "smut beta"... for upcoming chapters send me a message as well.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry opened his eyes to find he was in his pajamas, in his bed, in his room in 12 Grimmauld Place. It was what had happened every day for more than two years, and he enjoyed a quiet peace of not remembering everything that had transpired the last time he held consciousness. Light was streaming in through the window and though his muscles complained, Harry reached to the table next to him for his glasses. When he put them on he saw Remus sitting in an armchair in the corner.

"Remus?" he said. His voice was so quiet and scratchy he barely expected to be heard.

Remus did hear, however. He jumped up and came to Harry's bedside. He took a glass of water from the end table and offered it to him as Harry worked his way stiffly into a sitting position. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Harry took a gulp of water, coughed, then slowly drank the rest. "Like I've been run over by a bus," he replied after a minute. "What happened, Remus?"

"I don't know all the details, Harry, you'll have to wait for Dumbledore-"

"I don't want to wait," he protested. "Dumbledore is barely around anymore, anyway, just tell me, please, Remus."

Remus smiled slightly. "I think you'll find Dumbledore will make a special appearance this time. He's asked us to contact him as soon as you wake-"

"Us?"

"We've been taking in turns to watch you. So we know as soon as you wake up. It's been almost a week, you know.

"A _week?_"

"Yes. Just a moment, Harry, I must let Professor Dumbledore know..."

Remus left the room and Harry could hear him conversing quietly with a voice he recognized as Phineas. Remus came back in the room before long and settled back into the armchair. "He should be here within minutes, Harry."

Harry scoffed. "I suppose I should get grievously injured more often, if that's what all it takes. Though I suppose he'll just come and make sure I'm still alive and he'll pop off again-"

"Oh, I don't think you give the Headmaster much credit," Remus interrupted. "He cares about you a great deal, Harry. And I think he might be able to answer many of your questions today."

Harry rolled his eyes. Why should today be any different? He'd almost died many times and Dumbledore had never confided in him before. "Can you at least tell me how I ended up like this?"

"That, Harry, is probably the thing I am least able to speak on." Remus shook his head. "I am no expert on the subject of Horcruxes."

"What's a horcrux?"

Remus just shook his head again. "Professor Dumbledore should be here any moment. Are you in any pain? Would you like more water?"

"No, thanks," he said. His head was starting to ache a bit, but it wasn't too bad. He didn't want painkillers. He wanted answers. His most recent memories seemed a bit fuzzy and unreal. Luckily it wasn't more than a minute later that Dumbledore himself appeared in the doorway.

"Good to see you awake, Harry. I'm sure there is much you wish to discuss. Good afternoon, Remus," he said briskly.

"Oh," Remus said. "Well, I'll be downstairs when you're done, Harry, if you need anything." He left, and Dumbledore pulled the now-vacant armchair up to the side of Harry's bed and sat.

"There are some things we will discuss that you might feel more comfortable hearing in private," he explained. He pulled out his wand Harry flinched, although he wasn't sure why. Dumbledore lowered his wand immediately. "It's alright, Harry. I just want to do some diagnostic spells on you. They won't do anything to you. Just like taking your temperature or checking your vision. Just monitoring." After a moment, Harry warily nodded his permission and Dumbledore cast the spell. It wasn't one that he had ever heard before, but Dumbledore was satisfied with the results. "You seem to be coming along just fine, Harry."

"Sir, what happened?" Harry asked. "What's going on?"

Dumbledore cocked his head to the side and assessed him. He felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "I think first, Harry, you should tell me. You sustained a very serious injury and some amnesia concerning the incident would not be surprising. How much can you remember?"

Harry took a deep breath and tried to get his thoughts in order. They didn't seem to make any sense at all. "Snape and I were practicing dueling. I think he was angry at me for some reason... he was working me really hard. Even for him. I remember because he took his robes off, he was sweating so much. We finished, and he told me off for not being any good at Defense, but I think... he had written me a letter, I think. And he was upset with me because I didn't want to read it." This seemed so strange that Harry stopped and looked up at Dumbledore for confirmation. He didn't receive any, just a polite silence as he waited for Harry to continue. "He put his robes back on and we went upstairs when we were done. Everyone was in the kitchen. Something was going on, I don't remember exactly... oh! But then you arrived, sir, and you said something about, I dunno, what did you say?"

"I will tell you, Harry, but first tell me what _you remember_ of what I said," Dumbledore answered.

Harry frowned. "You said... you said that you were, you were doing, um, something... I really don't remember," he said.

"Alright, Harry. Do you remember anything after that?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, sir. It like I can feel it waiting there, but I just can't see it," he said regretfully. "Maybe you could draw it out to a pensieve?"

"I don't think having your memories removed by magic is a good idea so soon after your injury. And it wouldn't be necessary, Harry, I know what happened and I can tell you. But first, I must tell you what a horcrux is, and the mission I have been on to find them."

Dumbledore looked very old suddenly in the pale light streaming in through the window. He heaved a sigh and he began to speak. He told Harry that he had researched Tom Riddle's life, had scoured every fact and every movement he could find for information. He told him about the horcruxes and his theory that there would be six. It seemed incredibly far-fetched to Harry until he heard how difficult it was to destroy these seemingly innocent objects; a locket, a ring, a diadem, a cup. The diary from the Chamber of Secrets. And destroy them Dumbledore had. He felt a little remorse for the unkind thoughts he'd had over the past few years about the Professor. He had had his work cut out for him, it seemed.

"So, is there one more? If he made six like he was trying to?"

"He did indeed make another one. While hidden away in Albania he made Nagini into a horcrux."

"You can make a living thing into a horcrux?" Harry asked. He almost felt bad for the snake, carrying about a bit of Voldemort all the time.

"Yes, indeed," Dumbledore replied. "Just as easily as making anything else into one. Some small amount of evidence would suggest it might even be easier. The soul might prefer to be in a living vessel. Though I don't believe that is why he used Nagini. I doubt he knows of a soul's preference at all. He never cared to learn about the properties of the soul, just how to use it to accomplish his ends. And in fact Nagini was probably the most useful horcrux he made. By placing part of his soul there he was able to impress some sort of influence over her. It wasn't just his parseltongue that made Nagini so responsive to her master. From the dreams that you had during your fifth year, specifically the one where Nagini attacked Arthur Weasley, I believe he could also see through her eyes at times and control her from a distance."

There was a heavy silence for a few minutes as Harry turned all this over in his mind.

"So I suppose we have to kill the snake, then? To destroy the horcrux?"

"The snake is dead, Harry, but that is not the only way," Dumbledore said quietly. "It is certainly easier, but we have in fact managed to remove a piece of Voldemort's soul from a living host without killing it."

Harry frowned. "I thought he only made six?"

"He did. He made six. And one other was made by accident." Harry made to interrupt but Dumbledore held up his hand. "Ripping your soul into pieces makes it very unstable. It's like a mirror that gets cracked - it is now much more susceptible to breaking. And so unstable was Voldemort's soul that when the Killing Curse that was meant for you rebounded upon him, the soul still in his body broke again and was ejected from his body. It is unlikely that he was in any position to notice this happening at the time."

"I suppose he was a bit busy," Harry said hollowly. He thought he had a good idea now how this conversation related to him.

"Quite," Dumbledore's eyes sparkled at the joke but Harry couldn't bring himself to smile back. He knew what the headmaster was going to say and it was terrible. "Being outside a vessel is a tenuous place for a soul to be. Indeed, being inside a cup or a locket is not such a good place for a soul. A soul craves life, even a soul belonging to one such as Tom Riddle. And it went to the closest life at hand. You, Harry."

Harry said nothing.

"We have got it out, now. Professor Snape took you back into the basement and performed a spell on you, one I had devised myself. It took the soul fragment from you and contained it safely in an ordinary object, in this case a jewelry box. The jewelry box has since been destroyed as well." Dumbledore paused. "I had thought to keep it until you woke and give you Godric's sword to do it yourself, but it seemed prudent to get rid of it as soon as possible."

"Right. Good. Yes. I'm glad you did." Harry stared straight ahead. He didn't think he could look at Dumbledore without breaking down. Which was silly, really. The danger had already passed. The horcrux was out, destroyed. But Harry still felt like he would never be clean again.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "So, with all that said, Harry, I just wanted to apologize."

At that, Harry turned to look at him, eyes wide.

"I know that these two years since graduation have been long. I know you have often felt perhaps like a dog forever in a kennel. Your friends of a similar age are able to demonstratively help Order goals, activity going on around you but never being a part of it."

He looked so regretful Harry could hardly stand it. "It is hard, sir, but I understand why I have to stay here. It was really hard for a while, but I don't hold me being here against you, sir, you know. Not really."

The headmaster smiled. "Many times I wished to speak with you. Tell you why you couldn't know things. But I could not. Not without risking Voldemort finding out exactly how much we knew about him. I told you after you had those visions of Arthur and the Department of Mysteries that the failed curse was the reason you could dream what Voldemort was doing, that he could possess you so easily. I apologize for that half-truth. You needed some kind of explanation after those events, but I still had horcruxes to find and it was of utmost importance he not know I was hunting them."

"I understand, Professor. I do." Harry's voice was flat. "I think I just have to get used to the idea that Voldemort's soul was in me." He grimaced, attempting to force a smile. "It's pretty gross to think about."

"I can only imagine, my dear boy. I am quite pleased that we may now converse normally. I have always viewed you as a foster, or perhaps surrogate would be-"

"So, I think I'll just need some time, then," Harry interrupted. "I think actually I'd like to go back to sleep for a while. Being unconscious sure is exhausting."

Dumbledore left looking disappointed. Harry couldn't quite care anymore. It had been a long time since Sirius' death. Long enough that when he thought of Sirius he could now keep his thoughts to the good memories, or at the least keep his thoughts from his blunder at the Ministry, his bungling that lead to his Godfather's death. Talking about the events shouldn't hit him this hard anymore. He tried to tell himself this didn't change anything. It was a piece of Voldemort's soul that allowed the bastard to use him instead of a connection forged by a spell. Nothing was different. But for some reason knowing this made his loss seem as fresh as when he had first sat in Dumbledore's office and learned that Voldemort had tricked him.

It was the middle of the night when Harry finally woke up. Snape heard the pattern of his breathing change. A rustle, a mumble, the soft scraping as he dragged his glasses from the side table to his face. A muttered spell lit a candle and Snape closed his eyes against the sudden light. A muffled curse, then, "Snape, what are you doing in here?"

He slowly opened his eyes to see the younger man scoot up to a sitting position. "I am here because a week ago you sustained sever trauma to the head, caused by a spell never before used with effects impossible to foresee, and then spent the next six days in a comparative coma. We usually do not leave such people on their own."

Harry scowled. "Dumbledore seems to think I'm fine."

"_Professor Dumbledore_," Snape growled, "understands that if there is any brain damage it may take longer than one conversation to manifest itself. He is also," he added quietly, "an incurable optimist."

Harry looked alarmed. "Do you think I might have brain damage? Er, Professor?"

Snape was quiet for a moment. "It is possible," he said finally. "Who could say what really happened in your head when that horcrux ripped out of your skull."

The blood drained from Harry's face. He pushed his glasses back up his nose with a finger and said, "I don't remember. Dumbledore said... he said you pulled it out of me."

Snape gave him an unreadable look. "I did."

"Can you... tell me?"

"Tell you what?" he snapped.

"Er," Harry stuttered. "Just, what happened."

Snape looked down his long nose for a moment, then turned to look out the black window. He had seen and done many disturbing things, both in his service to the Dark Lord and out of it. But the image burned in his mind of what happened that night was by no means something he enjoyed reliving. He deserved to know, though. He wasn't Snape's favorite person by a long shot, but he couldn't ignore that. It came out of his head, after all. "We were in the basement. We sat on the floor-"

"You sat on the floor? The dusty floor in the-"

"Yes, Potter."

"Sorry." Harry grinned a bit. "I just can't imagine you sitting on the ground-"

"Are you going to continue to interrupt? I believe you asked to hear this," Snape snapped.

"Yes sir."

"You _will_ continue to interrupt?" he said sarcastically.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, sir."

Snape ignored him and continued speaking, he wanted to get it over with. "I placed a jewelry box on the ground to house the horcrux after it had left you. Around it I drew a rudimentary rune to guide the horcrux to its new vessel. I informed you I would be casting a spell on you and that I would tell you what it was when it was over. You argued with me for about ten minutes before you finally shut your mouth and allowed me to continue. The spell Professor Dumbledore devised was long, but halfway through the incantation I could tell something was happening. Your scar was bothering you, you kept rubbing it. As I continued to incant it got stronger until you started screaming. Then your... your head, well," Snape coughed, "your head literally broke open at the scar. It seemed that the piece of soul pushed through your skull and skin, breaking it open somewhat like a bird emerging from an egg."

"Like a bird -!" Harry sputtered.

Snape didn't slow his speech. "The horcrux then entered the jewelry box and the spell was complete. I performed healing spells on your bone and skin. Safely contained in the box, Dumbledore was able to destroy it and you remained unconscious." Snape paused here and cast an appraising look at Harry. "You seem to be your annoying self. But I would be remiss if I did not check up on your mental health after casting a spell like that."

Harry gave him a strange look. "Remiss? You could just ask someone else to look after me. Remus or Madam Pomfrey-"

"Or," Snape said, "I could check myself and leave nothing to the fatuity of others. Believe me, Potter, I'm not _looking after_ you. There are others who can get you cups of tea. I am here to make sure the Boy Who Lived still has the limited mental faculties he came here with."

"Well, I'm fine, thanks," Harry huffed.

"I'll be the judge of that," he said darkly. He settled into his chair and crossed his arms.

"You're just going to watch me?" Harry asked. He didn't reply. "Well, I'm not doing this. I'm going downstairs," Harry announced. He swung his legs around to the floor and tried to stand up. His body, as expected, was much too weak and he ended up in a lump on the floor. Snape heard a strangled cry and sighed.

"Excellent work, Potter," he drawled. He could not, however, leave the Savior of the Wizarding World lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. Awkwardly, and with more touching than he was exactly comfortable with, he helped him back into the bed. "I trust you won't be trying that again soon?" Harry said nothing. Snape sighed again and clapped his hands together twice. Kreatcher appeared with a loud _crack_.

"Why's he listening to _you?_" Harry asked accusingly.

"He is a house elf, Potter. Really," Snape said, "you should educate yourself now that you own one. It's the way of their magic. While his master is sick or impaired, he must obey anyone who is taking care of-" Snape stumbled momentarily, "of the house, and the estate, and everything." He glared over at Harry as though daring him to contradict what he said. "Regardless, you haven't eaten in days and you are clearly weak. That is not good for healing. Order food."

Harry asked Kreatcher for soup and ate it in silence as Snape pulled what looked like a briefcase out from beside the chair. He extracted several sheets of parchment and a quill and began to read them.

"Are those student essays, sir?" Harry asked.

"Yes," he responded shortly. He continued to read and make notations (_I feel exceedingly bad for the victims of your pepper-up potions if you think a Unicorn horn could be substituted for a Bicorn_) with the continuous uncomfortable feeling that Harry was going to ask more questions. He was right. After ten minutes of silence, Harry spoke again.

"What did it look like?" he asked quietly.

Snape stopped reading. "What did what look like, Potter?"

"The horcrux," he answered. "What did his soul look like?"

Snape put his quill down and looked at Harry. His eyes were wide and staring right into his. He had to stop himself from a small gasp at the pure depth of disgust and hatred in those eyes. He knew it was due to the thought of a piece of Voldemort riding around in him for two decades, but he couldn't help but be slightly taken aback by being the recipient of such a look.

"It is hard to describe. It was green, or black at times, and it seemed almost like a vapor or a liquid though it was clearly a solid object." Snape was aware that he wasn't making much sense, which upset him. Harry's eyes were narrowing and he was feeling strangely self-conscious. "It shined, or at least it might have sparkled, but it was so dark, it ate the light in the room..." Snape shook his head. "Like I said. It is hard to describe. If you saw it you doubtless wouldn't describe it the way I have. It's... like nothing I have ever seen before," he finished honestly.

Harry seemed to take this in. Snape waited to see if he had any more questions. He didn't.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm bored."

Harry could see Snape grinding his teeth as he marked essays. He really was astonishingly bored. The recovery was going more slowly than he thought it would. It was hit or miss if he'd even make it to the bathroom and it had been a week. He'd read Quidditch Through the Ages, Puddlemere Divided: The Story of a Team (from Ron), and even had a go at an advanced Defense text Hermione had borrowed him. It was maddening. One thing he found he liked to do was annoy Snape, though.

"When Dumbledore sits with me he talks to me," complained Harry.

"_Professor_ Dumbledore-"

"I'm not in school anymore, Snape. I'm twenty years old. I don't need to call him Professor anymore," Harry pointed out.

Snape raised his eyebrow. "Barely."

"What?"

"Barely twenty. You still act like a teenager."

"How would you know if I'm _barely_ twenty?" Harry asked. "Oh, the prophecy."

"Quite."

Harry stifled an odd urge to ask him if that was the only reason the older man knew his birthdate. "I had this thought. Or rather, this memory." Snape continued to scratch at his parchment. "About the night you, er, pulled the horcrux out of me." _Scratch, scratch, scratch._ The man wasn't going to make this any easier for him. "Did you, um. Give me a letter?"

"Yes, did you lose it?"

"You did?"

Snape looked up at him. "Are you having trouble hearing?"

"No! I was just asking. You don't have to be a jerk about it!"

He gave him a look. "I meant in general. It could be a result of your head trauma."

"Oh."

"Yes, _oh_."

"Well, I'm not." Harry didn't speak for a minute. He rearranged the pillow behind his back. Then he asked, quietly, "Why did you give me a letter?"

"Because it was for you, why else would I give you a letter?" He went back to his essay.

"What did it say?"

"Merlin, save me," Snape muttered under his breath. "Maybe you should have read it like I told you to before you came into the basement."

"Did you already know you were going to have to put that spell on me? Is that why you wanted me to read it right away?"

Snape eyed him for a long moment. It was extremely uncomfortable, and as he couldn't walk he could hardly get away. He wondered why he'd even brought it up. It had been nagging at him these last few days, but it was a weirdly awkward subject and he now thought he should have left it alone.

"Yes," Snape said simply. "I didn't know how the spell would effect you, or even if you would live through it. I imagined you would be glad to have read it if, for example, you had woken up blind."

Harry gaped at him. "So you did it just to be nice to me?"

Snape scoffed. "There is no purpose to being _nice_. We couldn't tell you what we were about to do. If we were able I could have asked you if you had any last requests. As such, I had to make do."

"Last requests?" Harry repeated.

"There was a very real possibility you would not have lived through the night. One cannot knowingly let a man die without accommodating his last request. Surely it is the same in the Muggle world."

"Well, I suppose, sort of. Not really. A "last request" is like something they give to prisoners before they get executed or something." Snape looked appalled. Harry backtracked. "I mean, if someone, your dad or someone, was laying on a bed dying, and asked you to do something and you could do it, I expect you should. But I don't think it's something you really expect to be asked. I don't know, I've never known a Muggle that died. And I've never really been that close to a Muggle that I would be at their deathbed, either."

"You don't necessarily have to be close to someone to grant their last request." Snape said. Harry just shrugged. Snape shook his head. "Wouldn't you go to your relatives' deathbed? Your aunt, uncle, your cousin? Do they mean that little to you?" The last bit was said rather sharply and sounded a lot like _Is Golden Boy Potter's time too precious to spare any for the sick and dying?_

Harry grit his teeth, fought an urge to say, 'yes, astonishingly little,' and instead answered, "I would go, if they wanted me to. But they wouldn't. Me showing up unannounced would just make them angry."

"Why on earth would they be angry?"

Harry shrugged again. This wasn't really something he wanted to talk about with Snape, of all people. He hadn't seen his relatives since his seventeenth birthday and he'd hoped he would never have to dwell on their existence again.

"We don't get along, you could say."

"'You could say?' What would _you_ say?"

"Why do you care all of the sudden?"

Snape shrugged. "You said you wanted to talk."

"Not about this."

"As you wish." He returned to his papers.

Harry fidgeted. "I would've thought you'd know how they felt about me."

Snape looked up at him quizzically. "How would I know?"

"You saw my memories, erm, when you were teaching me Occlumency. You saw a lot of my childhood."

Snape's expression had darkened somewhat. Harry couldn't tell if he was simply trying to recall Harry's memories or if he was thinking about his own that Harry had seen. Probably the latter.

"I'm hardly in the habit of memorizing every detail of your life I come across, Potter." He paused. "Besides, I could hardly make sense of them. You always left your mind so completely open your memories seemed to swarm me."

"Oh." Harry stared at the blue quilted bedspread instead of making eye contact.

"I have also learned," Snape continued, "that it is not wise to attempt to judge a person or relationship by a few snapshot memories. For example, I do recall a memory of what I think was your cousin riding a new bicycle and I felt your jealousy of him. From there, I would not jump to the conclusion that it was only your cousin who would receive gifts, or that you seriously disliked him. A person can feel a moment of jealousy or anger over the course of a normal, happy relationship."

"Right," Harry said quietly. He should probably let this go. Talking about the Occlumency lessons for too long was dangerous, lest Snape become angry again about Harry's trip into his Pensieve. He might leave and then he'd have no one to talk to. But he couldn't help it. "Do you remember anything else? About my relatives, I mean."

"A few things. But I thought you didn't want to talk about this," Snape said.

Harry shrugged. "You're a smart man, Sir. We've sure had our differences, but I can admit that. But you're so wrong about this. So I just wondered how much you actually saw of them if you came to this conclusion." Snape was angry, he could tell, but also curious.

"Well, Mister Potter. I remember a dog, I believe you said it belonged to your aunt, chasing you up a tree. People were laughing. I remember some children from your Muggle school liked to pick on you. And I remember you liked to hide in a closet where your aunt would undoubtedly find you and set you to the chores you were shirking."

Harry laughed. The thought that he would _choose_ to spend time in the cupboard if he'd had somewhere else to go? "I think you could have jumped to a few more conclusions than you did, sir."

"Really."

"Yeah. Those people laughing at me were my aunt and uncle. The only thing about me that ever made them happy was when I was either scared or out of sight. The kids that beat me up at school only did it because my cousin told them to. It was his favorite pastime. He wouldn't let anyone at school talk to me or he'd beat them up, too. I didn't _hide _in the cupboard to avoid chores, I _lived_ there. Dudley had two bedrooms and I lived in the cupboard under the stairs. Sometimes they would lock me in there when they didn't want me around. One time I did accidental magic at the zoo and they locked me in for over a month. And I was jealous of Dudley and his bicycle because I never, ever received gifts."

A slightly awkward silence settled on them. For all that Harry actually felt better having said it, he was at a loss as to what to say next. It seemed Snape was also, because after a while he went back to his papers. _Scratch, scratch, scratch._ "Well, did _you_ get along with your family?" Harry blurted out.

Snape stared at him. Harry blushed. "I mean, I know your parents didn't really get along with _each other_, but I wouldn't want to jump to conclusions, would I?" Snape said nothing. "I just thought, you know, I explained my memories that you saw. It's kind of one-sided now. But maybe your dad was a really great guy and there's an innocent explanation to what I saw in your mind."

He snorted. "And of course, I, like you, couldn't bear to have someone mistakenly think that my arsehole of a father was a good man and I must correct them immediately by sharing personal stories?" Harry shrugged. Snape sighed. "Well, if you must. No, I did not get along with my father. He liked to drink and beat his wife. He never hit me, though he would often throw bottles at me to make me leave the room, and they wouldn't always miss."

"That's terrible," Harry said softly.

"I'd say it's about the average for the room," he said, giving Harry a meaningful look. The silence stretched but this time it didn't seem awkward at all. It seemed to Harry like something had shifted between himself and the Professor, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

A knock sounded at the door and they both jumped. Remus opened the door and the spell was broken. Snape coughed and started noisily gathering his essays. He looked at Harry, looked at Remus, looked back at Harry, and then left without a word.

Remus settled in Severus' vacated chair. He talked a lot and while Harry usually appreciated the distraction, today he almost told him to shut up. He wanted to think. Snape was acting strangely. He supposed he was, too, but a week of bed rest will make anyone a little barmy. What was Snape's excuse?


End file.
